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Thursday, December 22, 2011

Days Two-Hundred-Seven, Frequently Asked Questions

Won't you introduce yourself.
Certainly! I am James Harry Pierce. I am delighted to meet all of you. Gosh, what a good looking crowd.

Thank you.
The pleasure is mine.

What are you doing out here?
I am Walking Across America.

Why?
I thought it might be fun.

Is it?
Pretty fun, I guess. It has been an adventure. For a while I had stomach muscles. You can't see them any more.

Oh, what happened to them?
I have not been walking. I am putting on weight. I am stranded in Crestview, Florida.

Gosh! That must be awful!
Not, really. It's not so bad. The Knightens have been awfully kind. They have pie and a Christmas tree. Ronne has been baking cookies.

Why do they put up with you?
I don't know. They are my friends. I guess they're just really nice people.

You've been there a week. It's not a big house. They must be getting sick of you.
I try not to take up too much space. I'm hoping they'll forget I'm here. But I do weigh close to 200-pounds. I worry that I'm in the way.

Of course you're in the way, idiot. Why don't you get back on the road?
I'm still waiting for my new computer.

How far have you come?
I don't know. Maybe three-thousand miles.

Where and when did you start?
In Seattle. Tacoma, in fact. At the very end of May.

And where are you headed?
I don't know.

And what will you do when you get there?
I'll meet a nice girl. We'll settle down. We'll have a couple of kids.

Who'd marry you?
I don't know. Someone special. I have not met her yet.

And if you don't find her?
I'll keep on looking.

Don't you have a job to get back to? I thought you were on sabbatical.
I don't even know what that means.

Get a job.
Doing what?

How the hell am I supposed to know?
You're right. Thanks, though, for trying.

What are you, some kind of moron?
Call me a foolish optimist. You're not going to hurt my feelings. I'm all about Positive Energy. I'm just here for the hugs.

About Me

"Some years ago," Melville wrote, "having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball."
As for me, I'd just as soon walk.